Of Drugs And Dance Floors
by lady of scarlet
Summary: JJReid. Summary: See title. Warnings: Slightly angsty/dark, hurt/comfort, het, mature content hard 'M' by final chapter , adult situations, language, mentions of substance abuse. Post-Gideon, pre-WGA strike. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Of Drugs and Dance Floors  
**Chapter:** 1/3  
**Author:** Scarlet  
**Fandom:** Criminal Minds  
**Pairing:** JJ/Reid, strategically implied Hotch/Prentiss  
**Rating:** FRM (FRAO by third chapter)  
**Warnings:** Slightly angsty/dark, hurt/comfort, het, mature content, mentions of substance abuse.  
**Summary:** See title.  
**Word Count:** 1,784  
**A/N:** I've been missing Criminal Minds and my fellow JJ/Reid shippers, and this is the result. Set somewhere post-Gideon, pre-writers strike. Also, I'm testing my new 'shorter-paragraphs theory', so let me know if you find it easier to read with shorter paragraphs, and of course any and all reviews will result in my undying devotion and gratitude.  
**Disclaimer:** Seriously, nothing contained herein would ever happen--ever-- it's just for fun, I own nothing.

* * *

The music ebbed and flowed as the deafening sounds of the crowded nightclub overtook it, leaving only the steady pound of the bass to string together the long-forgotten lyrics.

For the past hour or so he had been sitting here, repeatedly subjected to a variety of dance songs that he wouldn't have been able to recognize and name even if he cared. The things he did for his career... Spencer shook his head and sighed to himself, briefly stirring the drink he had ordered to blend in, before pushing it a few centimetres away.

If it had been any other night he might have considered indulging, but it wasn't alcohol he craved tonight.

Besides, they were technically still on the job and any amount of inebriation, however tempting, would be a bad idea.

Morgan shifted in the seat across from him, his eyes locked on the mirror over the bar while Spencer's remained focused on the dance floor.

Hotch and Rossi were both strategically positioned near each exit, looking only mildly conspicuous in the ever-growing crowd of patrons.

The girls, however, had found themselves in the rather unfortunate position of _bait_ as they swayed to the pulsating rhythm on the dance floor.

Neither one of them was happy about it, but with the weight of five dead girls on their minds, and only a small window of opportunity, they could hardly refuse.

Spencer noted with some amusement that the dance floor seemed to have polarized the moment the two women walked in.

Apparently the other female patrons knew when they had been hopelessly out-classed.

The dancers now consisted mainly of men and the bar was lined with some less-than-impressed looking women.

In all actuality, this made their job that much easier--fewer prospective victims to worry about.

The unfortunate side-effect of JJ and Emily's increasing fan club however, was the sheer mass of potential Unsubs they would have to sort through.

It was surprisingly difficult to discern one leering-sadistic-serial-killer from a crowd of leering-potentially-sadistic-customers.

"Blue-shirt guy to Emily's left?" Morgan suggested.

Reid squinted, trying to pinpoint Morgan's latest suspect, "Nah, not physically imposing enough."

"Okay, the guy with the really bad 80s moves?"

"And the grey t-shirt, behind JJ?"

"No, next to him."

"Married," Reid noted, eyeing the man's wedding band and wondering offhandedly if his wife had any idea what he was up to tonight.

The waitress came by to replace a bowl of peanuts and gave them an odd look.

"Damn. Missed that. Someone should really clean those mirrors," Morgan sighed pointedly as she walked away, clearly stifling the urge to turn around for a better view of the dance floor. He hadn't been especially confident in Rossi's plan to weed the Unsub out. Mostly because it was indeed _Rossi's_ plan, but Morgan's innate need to keep his team out of harm's way had factored in too.

Spencer fidgeted in his seat.

He glanced occasionally at Morgan to see if his barely contained edginess was noticed.

He didn't appear to be paying close attention, but nonetheless he made a conscious attempt to keep his body still.

He could recall a time when these undercover stake-outs had been an intoxicatingly novel experience. Something akin to fun in this line of work.

But staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, watching as your life unceremoniously flashed before your eyes and having your veins pumped full of liquid fire did tend to dampen one's thirst for adventure.

Spencer tried his best to concentrate on the task at hand.

As it was, his brain was caught between focusing on the case, trying not to gawk openly at JJ and suppressing the intense craving for a little chemical solace to get him through the night.

Just a little fix. Nothing serious.

Just enough to medicate, not enough to hallucinate.

And that would be it. Nothing at all to worry about.

Spencer Reid was no junkie after all, he assured himself, and could control the cravings. He'd been doing so well, what would one little slip-up matter?

Despite his current discomfort however, he could think of few better uses of his time than catching bad guys while watching JJ move sensuously on the dance floor-- aside from their card games on the plane of course.

Her every movement was graceful and fluid and so blessedly distracting.

It was sometimes hard for him to believe that the human body could move in such ways, when he regularly got bruises on his shins from walking into furniture.

But that was just JJ; Grace, beauty and charm.

The little gold and black dress she wore was attractive enough to make his heart beat faster every time he glanced in her direction, which was often, yet simple enough to complement her natural beauty and maintain some semblance of modesty in the sea of otherwise brash attire.

It was practically work appropriate even, though he imagined that would lead to some severely distracted FBI agents wandering aimlessly around the bureau and past her office all day.

As it was, strange men were staring lecherously at her as though they had any right to even be in her presence, and Spencer could only imagine the lewd and debasing thoughts in their heads.

Every so often she would glance up and catch his gaze, and he could almost imagine she was dancing for him.

But he knew better of course, and would immediately feel ashamed at having been caught staring when he was supposed to be looking for the Unsub, so he would quickly look away.

Never for long though.

Sometimes he wondered which he longed for more, her or the Dilaudid.

Spencer nearly jumped out of his skin when Morgan's phone vibrated tiny circles across the table.

Holding it to his ear, Morgan turned in his chair. "Yeah Hotch, I see him," were the only words spoken before the phone was slammed closed and he shot out of his seat. Motioning for Spencer to join him, he added, "Think we got him, but Hotch says it looks like he's onto us so we better move."

"Our cover's blown?" Spencer asked incredulously as they rushed through the crowd. "Bet it's because Hotch wouldn't lose the tie," he muttered.

Time to get this over with, case closed, the end, and get home where he could brood freely away from the watchful eyes of his teammates.

As soon as they rounded the corner and made eye contact with the tall, broad-shouldered man leaning against the bar, he bolted.

Clearly he knew law enforcement when he saw it.

In a matter of seconds, three federal guns were drawn and Morgan had the guy face-down with a knee in his back, twisting his arm into what looked to be an unbearably painful position.

"I swear I wasn't going to sell it!" the man on the floor insisted desperately. "It-it isn't even mine, this guy he just--"

"Don't play dumb, we know what you did to those girls and you're going to rot in jail for the rest of your pathetic life," Morgan disgustedly informed him.

"Wh-what girls? What's he talking about? This isn't about the coke?"

Hotch and Rossi exchanged glances, and Morgan patted the suspect down, quickly locating three small bags of white powder from his pocket.

The man was clearly on the verge of tears, a far cry from the confidence and apathy determined by the profile, despite the physical similarities.

Though an idiot and a criminal, this was obviously not their Unsub.

The chaos of the nightclub had halted as though a spell had been cast over the masses, yet evidently no one thought to stop the music.

The beat drove on mockingly.

All eyes were on them and no one moved.

The whole scene would have been incredibly amusing, had it not reminded him so vividly of high school induced nightmares involving stages, crowds, and wearing nothing but underwear.

Their cover was beyond blown and not even getting rid of the tie would help them now. Hotch, in a remarkable show of composure, started pulling out his credentials in a vain attempt to control the situation, but the second his badge flipped open and the title "F.B.I" left his mouth, the spell was broken.

"Aw shit, man, F.B.I?" whined the petty dealer from his uncomfortable position on the floor.

The turmoil that followed was no less than a testament to the darker, self-serving aspect of the human spirit.

The crowd cleared as suddenly as if a bomb had been dropped and the previously care-free partiers made a mad dash for the exits.

Everyone, or so it seemed, had something to hide.

In this type of sleazy venue, Spencer calculated, a good third of the customers were moderately-to-heavily intoxicated.

Another third likely chemically numbed to the world around them, and of this fact Spencer tried not to be envious.

The remaining third fell neatly into the 'unknown' category, which he figured involved acts and conditions equally worthy of concealment; especially since this was, after all, where the search for a brutal killer had led them.

As Rossi cuffed their unintended-perp and Morgan grunted in frustration, Prentiss tried to make her way toward them.

Pushing against the crowd, she stumbled and Hotch ended up catching her before she fell.

"Sorry!" she all but shouted over the noise as the last of the mob made their way out the doors.

"Not a problem," he held on to her just a moment longer than necessary.

She seemed to trip into Hotch a lot lately, and Spencer was momentarily concerned by her lack of equilibrium.

Perhaps it was an inner-ear problem.

"Did JJ get lost in the crowd?" she asked distractedly.

A quick scan of the nightclub turned up nothing other than some confused looking waitresses and a very angry manager headed towards them.

In all the commotion, no one had been witness to JJ's startled gasp at the unexpected feel of a cold .35mm handgun pressed into her back.

No one noticed her body still on the dance floor as the rhythm of the music suddenly escaped her concentration.

Whispered threats and commands met only her ears, and no attention was paid when the dance floor lost two more of its occupants.

Looking back, he would wonder if maybe he should feel guilt over this fact.

He had felt more remorse over less, certainly.

But some things you simply _could not_ regret.

Some things were just so undeniable in their ultimate perfection, their providence, that to lament their occurrence would seem like blasphemy against the gods of fate and their divine intervention.

The ring of a gunshot overpowered the music.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Of Drugs and Dance Floors  
**Chapter:** 2/3  
**Author:** Scarlet  
**Pairing:** JJ/Reid  
**Rating:** FRM (FRAO by third chapter)  
**Warnings:** Slightly angsty/dark, hurt/comfort, het, mature content, mentions of substance abuse, language.  
**Summary:** See title.  
**Word Count:** 2,649  
**A/N:** Wow, I was completely overwhelmed by the wonderful feedback I received for the first chapter, so I hope this lives up to the high expectations, and thanks to everyone who reviewed, it makes it all worth it! Also, this is not so much a case-based fic as it is a character exploration of JJ and Reid, set somewhere post-Gideon, pre-WGA strike.  
**Disclaimer:** Seriously, nothing contained herein would ever happen--ever-- it's just for fun, I own nothing.

* * *

There was blood everywhere.

The weak florescent light reflected off a series of metal tables and various tools hanging from the walls, all partially coated in splatters of deep crimson.

Luckily, the only fresh blood appeared to be that pooling on the tiled floor beneath the Unsub.

A knee to the groin, some basic self-defence techniques and a single shot to the leg had been enough to take him down. Now JJ stood in rigid shooting posture over him, feet shoulder-width apart, back straight, gun aimed to kill.

Though he was on the ground against the wall with his hands clasped tightly to his wound, he didn't cower under her deadly serious glare or the perfectly level firearm pointed at him. Instead a cocky smirk fell upon his lips and his tongue slid across them, as he slowly looked her up and down.

She couldn't quite suppress the shudder that evoked.

A sickening moment of déjà vu hit her as she felt the all too familiar stickiness of blood beneath her high heel, and she could have sworn she heard dogs barking beyond the door.

The growling grew until she was certain she was losing her mind, then a loud _thump_ suddenly impacted the door and an irrational fear filled her, spreading like ice along her spine.

Her breath quickened.

For a moment she was back in that barn, cornered, surrounded by bloodthirsty animals. No way out.

Only this time she wasn't sure if good would conquer evil, if there were enough rounds left in this gun to survive, if the dogs wouldn't reach her first.

At the subtle shifting of the Unsub on the floor, she snapped back to reality just as quickly as she had abandoned it, attention instantly returned to him as she again shouted "Freeze!" with all the valour she could muster.

Before she could even think to turn around again, she heard the wood frame of the door give way and the crash of the door itself as it hit the ground, followed by the most reassuring sound in the world, a beautiful chorus of familiar voices--

"Agent Jareau?"

"She's in here!"

Relief swept over her.

The few short minutes between having been on the dance floor and being trapped in a room with a madman had felt like an eternity drenched in fear and adrenaline, but now the world seemed to jerk forward suddenly, leaving her behind; dizzy and breathless.

A flurry of motion stormed the room and with the added firepower now in play, the Unsub sank back against the wall in submission.

In a show of perfect synchronization, Morgan and Rossi secured the Unsub, Hotch called for a medic and Spence ushered in the back-up that had been waiting patiently down the street most of the night. Emily was the first to reach her yet again, placing a calming hand on her shoulder as JJ lowered the gun.

"JJ, are you okay?" Emily gently asked, in a tone she usually reserved for her personal life.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," JJ lied, immediately reviving her trademark composure and putting on her best attempt at a sincere smile.

Emily nodded and looked around, seeming to just notice her surroundings. "Whoa," she mumbled, clearly struck by the gruesome crime scene that may have once been a simple storage area or office.

"Yeah," JJ conceded.

"Looks like we got him after all," Rossi commented with a grin. As an apparent afterthought he added, "Remind me never to cross you."

"Nicely done Agent Jareau." She couldn't help but feel a small swell of pride at Hotch's words and the quick pat on the back as he followed Rossi and Spence out of the room.

She watched the minutes rush by her at an unyielding pace, standing shock still in the center of the room, engrossed in the seemingly random pattern of blood splatter on the walls and going through the motions of participation when required.

Sometime later Prentiss turned up at her side again. "Come on, let's get some air," Emily suggested, after JJ had offered a brief statement. They left the crime scene and Unsub to the capable hands of the officers quickly pouring in.

"Damn Jayj, you really kicked some ass back there." Morgan grinned widely as the two girls walked out into the chilly night air. The black asphalt was slightly damp from rain.

"Learned from the best."

"That's my girl."

"You sure you're okay?" Emily asked once more, presumably for good measure.

"Really, I'm fine-- We caught the guy, that's all that matters."

"His name is Timothy Hainsbury," Hotch noted as he walked toward them. "He was working as the janitor for room and board."

Somehow she couldn't care less what his name was. The cold fear and panic she experienced in the brief moments she had been alone with him was quickly evolving into righteous anger as the adrenaline wore off.

"Oh, here," she remembered, handing the .35mm to Hotch who was standing just outside the exit, "it's his. He used it to get me off the dance floor then made the mistake of putting it down." When his brow furrowed she asked, "What is it?"

Spence piped up from beside Hotch, apparently following his train of thought, "Sadists rarely use guns-- they're not intimate enough to glean satisfaction from. I'm surprised he broke profile."

"This case has been full of surprises," Hotch deadpanned. "The local police can take it from here, let's go home and leave the paper work for Monday," he suggested, much to the shock and exaltation of the team.

Everyone was in high spirits from a job well-done. They won. Justice prevailed. This was success, she reminded herself. She should be thrilled.

The club doors opened swiftly behind them to reveal two emergency response personnel pushing Timothy Hainsbury out on a stretcher.

He blew her a kiss as they rolled him past.

She thought she might throw-up from revulsion.

Memories of the night began to resurface with a vengeance.

His hands on her waist as he danced behind her.

The balmy exhales of his breath as he whispered into her ear.

Those smug, arrogant lips pressed against her neck before he led her off the dance floor-- gun in hand, yet not one single person on the floor took notice of the plea in her eyes.

The unexpected pain of sudden impact when he slammed her against the door, stealing her breath, after having dragged her inside the room.

And his weight pressed into her to keep her still as he reached over and locked the door while uttering the dare, "Scream for me."

She jumped involuntarily when Morgan placed a hand on her shoulder, instantly regretting the unconscious act. His initially playful eyes flooded immediately with concern.

She loathed the thought of explaining herself, so smiled and tried to laugh it off, "God Morgan, been practising your stealth?" But the laugh came off more nervous than intended and she knew he wouldn't be deterred for long. Damn profilers.

"I have to deal with some loose ends before we leave, it will just take a second," Hotch informed them and nodded for Morgan to join him. He sighed resignedly but obeyed, shooting JJ a glance though she purposely didn't meet his gaze. She thanked any deity that would listen for the distraction Hotch had provided.

The two of them crossed the parking lot and approached an officer who was looking rather amused as he leaned against his car.

For some reason there was a man slumped in the backseat. "Don't even ask," Emily warned with a smirk as she walked over to join Hotch and Morgan.

With the rest of the team currently preoccupied, JJ took the opportunity to try and get herself together.

Deep breaths only fuelled her frustration and rage.

By the time the area had mostly cleared and the team had settled the more pressing matters, she had her game-face back on. It was a shaky control, certainly temporary, but it was there and she prayed that it would last long enough to get her home.

Tired, the BAU team neglected the pleasantries of departure and separated wordlessly into the groups they had driven in with. Hotch, Rossi and Emily in one SUV. Spencer, Morgan and JJ in the other.

"You want me to take the wheel?" Morgan offered, heading toward the driver's side.

"No, I don't mind," she insisted.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Because it's okay if you--"

"I can drive," she said, a little harsher than she intended.

"Yes ma'am," Morgan surrendered, getting into the backseat, evidently afraid to further incur her wrath.

When the car was loaded, with Spence next to her and Morgan behind, she turned on the radio to discourage unnecessary conversation and took another deep breath to prepare herself for the hour long drive ahead.

Driving distracted her for a while as she had hoped, but her thoughts inevitably wandered from the monotony of the road to the events of the night.

Even Spence had lust in his gaze tonight, she mused-- something she'd never expected from him.

At the time it was strangely thrilling to think that maybe the untouchable, distant-genius, Dr. Reid could be interested.

She'd glance up and catch him staring. He'd blush and look away. She'd dance a little more sensuously than before. He would watch her again.

The cycle would continue until it became a game for her, keeping her sane and grounded, connected to someone she trusted unconditionally by an invisible lifeline, making the rest of the dance floor seem empty compared to the depth of his gaze. Then she could almost ignore the drunken men invading her personal space with their over-zealous hands and shameless intentions.

She knew deep down that she was being unrealistic, allowing her mind to counteract the discomfort of the situation with rampant thoughts of possibilities and optimism. They had gone to a Redskins game together once, and frequently went out for coffee, but never as anything more than friends.

After all, a nice guy like Spence simply wasn't the type to be interested in her.

But tonight, she saw something in the way he looked at her that was _different_.

Different from how he usually looked at her.

Different from how anyone had ever looked at her before, and she couldn't quite place a name to that difference, though she knew intuitively that she wanted to see it again.

Now of course, she saw that had been wishful thinking, and was certain she had misjudged the significance of that look. Maybe it was no more than the lust of every other stare she seemed to warrant from the men on the dance floor.

Maybe it meant nothing.

Besides, the last time her eyes had sought him out--filled with sudden panic at the unmistakable feel of a gun pressed discreetly against her spine--he wasn't there. The lifeline was broken and there was nothing she could do but drift away into the dark waters that lay beyond his reach.

Looking in the rear-view mirror she saw that Morgan had fallen asleep. She risked a glance at the seat next to her.

Spence was staring out at the night beyond the window, lost to everything around him.

His shoulders were tense and he was unconsciously biting his bottom lip while clenching and unclenching his fists nervously. He was practically vibrating in his seat.

She found his behaviour suspicious. After Tobias, she wondered if he had fallen further than anyone allowed themselves to think, but dismissed her worries with the reassuring argument that Spence, of all people, knew how to take care of himself and would likely be offended by any lack of faith on her part.

JJ had seen this job destroy people. Elle was the first to crack under the pressure. Gideon, who had lasted longer than any of them could hope to, even had to leave in the end to pick up the pieces of his life that this job had eventually shattered.

Seeing that same potential in Spence, after all that he had survived at such a young age, was unnerving and disheartening.

Five innocent young women died at the hands of Timothy Hainsbury, their blood coating the walls.

He'd be locked up eternally, but there would still be more Unsubs to chase.

Predators and prey.

There would always be more victims, more killers, more files flooding her desk and more death overwhelming her senses.

She could feel her righteous anger slowly twisting into the hopeless, crushing despair that she had been trying so hard to repress for so long now.

This, she simply could not allow. Not now. Not yet.

Instead she let the anger fill her, because anger she could handle.

She hated today's Unsub.

She hated yesterday's Unsub, and surely she would hate tomorrow's Unsub as well.

But mostly she hated herself for losing control, for letting the fear engulf her, for showing the weakness beneath her carefully constructed armour.

How could she be so stupid as to entertain the idea of Reid's genuine interest in her and allow herself to be distracted, letting that sick bastard get an advantage over her? This wasn't high school. Life wasn't a fairytale. There were no happy endings, only desire and temporary gratification. Abstract concepts like love could only make her weak.

JJ _refused_ to be weak. She _was_ in control, and she was tired of struggling to keep her head above the water.

Having been lost in thought for the better part of an hour, JJ nearly missed the turnoff to Morgan's house but managed to cut across traffic just in time.

The blare of angry car horns roused Morgan from his sleep and JJ watched in the mirror as he hastily checked to make sure his seat-belt was secure while cursing under his breath. Reid didn't even notice.

Minutes later she pulled into the driveway and Morgan got out, all limbs still intact, and said goodnight. He looked like he was about to say more, but seemed to change his mind and walked off in search of the soft bed waiting for him inside.

Her place was farthest across the city, so the obvious next stop would be Reid's. She pulled back onto the main highway.

An array of maudlin love songs were clawing their way out of her radio, something she had hadn't noticed until now but refused to entertain any longer since the immediate need to drown the possibility of conversation had passed.

She turned off the radio.

The rest of the drive was painfully quiet.

They didn't talk.

She seethed.

He fidgeted obliviously.

By the time they reached the exit leading to her next destination, JJ had a plan.

She sped up. They missed the exit. Reid didn't even blink.

Before long she pulled up to her own apartment complex, parked and killed the engine.

This seemed to finally snap him out of his daze. In a brief moment of coherence he turned, confusion written across his features. He moved to question her, but the look she offered seemed to be enough to stop all words from forming.

She finally broke eye contact and took the keys out of the ignition.

It was time to embrace drowning.

"Come on, I want to show you something," her voice was barely above a whisper.

"JJ... I-I really just need to get home," he insisted, sounding desperate and more than a little bit confused.

"Come on," she repeated, leaving no room for argument as she got out of the car taking the keys with her.

Her heels clicked lightly on pavement wet from rain and reflecting the golden iridescent glow of the streetlights. She walked slowly toward the moonlit apartment building, leaving him in the car alone with no other option than to follow after her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Of Drugs and Dance Floors  
**Chapter: **3/3  
**Fandom:** Criminal Minds  
**Pairing:** JJ/Reid  
**Rating:** FRAO  
**Warnings:** Angsty/dark, hurt/comfort, het, mature content, mentions of substance abuse, language, adult situations.  
**Summary:** See title.  
**Word Count:** 3,614  
**A/N:** After reading this through, I came to a horrifying realization: Yes, I admit it, I am a hopeless romantic. (Though you all probably knew that already, huh?) I'm going to go to the Closet-Romantics Anonymous meetings starting Monday, but until then, here is the final chapter! And thank you all so much for the encouraging reviews, I hope you like the ending.  
**Disclaimer:** Best disclaimer I've ever read (whose source I can't quite recall)- "I don't own them, I just like to rub them together and see what happens."

* * *

The car was cooling rapidly as he watched her walk away, wondering what the hell was going on, what it was that she needed so badly to show him that it couldn't wait until Monday.

He'd have been angry with her for not taking him home to be left to his vices, if not for that look in her eyes.

He recognized it immediately-- he had seen it enough times on this job. He saw it in Elle's eyes that night at the hotel.

He saw it in his own eyes most nights.

But JJ... He had never seen her look so broken before; angry and defiant, struggling under some weight visible only to her with that same soul-consuming despair that he knew all too well. It was a quiet kind of self-destruction.

For a brief moment he considered that she may need his help, that there was something he could do for her that would take that look away, but he had the intellect to see that this could simply not be the case. She was strong and independent. She didn't need a knight in shining FBI-issued Kevlar to sweep her off her feet.

He considered calling a cab when she was half way across the parking lot, but somehow realized it was too late for that.

Something felt different about tonight. He knew he could never say no to a request from her, but more importantly he recognized, despite his disjointed and disorganized thoughts, that he was standing at the edge of a proverbial abyss in more ways than one.

Spencer knew that there were only two options when standing on that ledge, looking down and observing the distance between himself and his destination: falling forward and watching as the earth rose up to meet him and swallow him whole, or falling backwards and watching as the heavens were pulled out of his grasp. Either way, just praying that someone is waiting at the bottom to pick up the pieces.

Walking away was never an option.

He undid his seatbelt and opened the door, the small sound echoing down the deserted street.

Hoping she would have pity on him and let him call a cab from her apartment when his attendance was no longer required, he jogged to catch up with her.

Following her lead and savouring the meditative quiet of the surrounding night, they walked silently into her apartment complex.

Millions of questions and polite excuses as to why he needed to leave rushed through his mind, though he couldn't quite grasp a coherent sentence to use in his defence.

Before he even realised it, they were standing in front of her door.

Scratching at a persistent itch on his arm and shuffling his feet slightly, he decided to try one last time to escape without upsetting her, "It's late... You probably should get some rest, I'll just--"

She unlocked the door, its hinges squeaking as she pushed it open and motioned for him to go inside. Thoughts increasingly jumbled, and no less confused than he was in the car, he found himself stumbling across the threshold and fumbling for a light switch.

Before his fingers could come into contact with the light he so desperately sought, the door slammed shut, startling him while sucking the luminosity of the hallway out of the room and leaving only the wisps of moonbeams filtering through her windows to illuminate his surroundings.

God, how he hated the darkness. He could never seem to find his way out of it.

Turning in the general direction he imagined JJ to be, he opened his mouth to protest, only to find her proximity far more precarious than he had judged and her soft lips flush against his.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

Shock consumed his senses until all he could register was the heat of her body against him, searing in its intensity, and the desperation of her lips on his.

Her hands moved unhurriedly up his chest, curving around his neck and entangling in his hair while her tongue teased his bottom lip, coaxing him to open to her.

His body took over while his mind was busy sorting through seas of confusion and disbelief, and he found himself returning the kiss as she led him gently through a labyrinth of foreign sensations.

His hands had made their way instinctively to her waist by the time the need for oxygen had finally registered in his brain. Sensing this, JJ pulled back hardly long enough for him to draw in a breath, before pushing him back against the door insistently while resuming her previous ministrations.

Her dress seemed to become less and less work appropriate the more his fingers came into contact with the sinfully delicate fabric. Weren't there laws against showing this much skin?

He had never imagined it would come to this. Never imagined her lips could be so soft, her skin so smooth. Never imagined she could taste this good, feel this right.

But god, this was JJ. Even his fantasies could never live up to her.

JJ who cheated at cards on the plane; who he _let_ cheat at cards on the plane just to feel the delighted sound of her laughter roll across his skin.

JJ who called him _Spence_ and humoured his physics magic and would go above and beyond the call of duty, putting herself at risk just to... Shit. That's what this was about.

Taking control. Misguided Absolution. Displaced adrenaline stemming from an emotionally draining experience.  
Maybe just the need to feel alive.

The revelation hit him like a freight train, leaving a lead weight in the pit of his stomach.

Her mouth was exploring his jaw line when her lips grazed across his earlobe and she whispered heatedly, "Is this what you want Spence?"

It was. It was more than he could ever have wanted.

But this was JJ.

He couldn't do this. He'd sooner take a bullet than hurt her.

She didn't want this. Not really. She would hate him in the morning, regretting a decision made for all the wrong reasons. He'd probably hate himself too.

The idea of taking advantage of her made him suddenly feel sick. Against all odds, his overdeveloped moral compass took hold of the turbulent situation, and he found himself pushing her away unsteadily. His lips were singed from the intensity of the fire against them and were already protesting its loss.

"No. No, I, JJ- I mean, god, not like this, I don't--" he stumbled for words, failing horribly at expressing the myriad reasons why they shouldn't be doing this that he couldn't quite remember after feeling the weight of her tongue in his mouth.

"Don't you want me?" It was the first time he had ever heard a tremor of self-doubt in her voice and it terrified him.

His heart dropped at having offended her.

Searching through the wealth of vocabulary in his brain and coming up empty, he sighed, resigned to his fate, and told her the truth in a choked voice, "More than you could possibly know."

Part of him wished he could see her face, the gentle curves of her cheekbones, the strands of golden hair tucked behind her ear. But a larger part of him was grateful for the absence of light.

He wasn't sure he could handle the look in her eyes.

Anger, maybe?

Regret?

Disgust?

Oh god, he couldn't bear to see her look at him like that. He had to get out. Had to--

A soft light suddenly flooded the foyer, emitted from a small lamp on a desk next to the door. He watched, entranced, as she slowly withdrew her hand from the light switch.

She wouldn't let him hide in the darkness any longer.

Unable to stop himself any more than he could calm the rampant pounding of his heart, his eyes lifted to meet hers, dreading what they would find there.

Looking into the shadowy blue depths of her eyes he was almost certain he could drown there and consider it a privilege, but she did not seem to be looking at him anymore. No, now she was looking through him, through the masks and the walls he had built around him, and he had never felt so exposed.

He searched her expression for some explanation, but found none. Instead he watched as her eyes softened. The anger and tension seemed to melt from her, released in a sigh.

His breath caught in his throat as she lifted one delicate hand and brought it to his face, brushing a thumb along his cheekbone without ever breaking eye contact.

It was simple, yet overwhelmingly intimate and suddenly he couldn't even remember the last time someone had touched him like this. Just touched him. Maybe no one ever had. He never wanted her to stop and couldn't help but lean into her palm.

"Spence..."

He didn't notice he had closed his eyes until he heard his name on her lips and looked up to see her staring back with concern. It was then that he realised he was still shivering ever so slightly, his body rebelling against him and begging for a needle to fill his veins with solace, just to get through another night.

Looking at her now, he knew he was caught. She could see the drugs in his gaze.

Her words were whispered, but direct, "After Tobias, you didn't stop taking the Dilaudid, did you?"

He wanted so much just to lie to her. He could only shake his head in silent confession and wait for her to pull back in disgust and scream at him to get out of her apartment.

To his surprise, she took a small step towards him, her lips dangerously close to his own and he stilled, wondering for a moment if maybe he was already home, had already surrendered to the drugs and none of this was real.

But the warmth of her skin as she rested her forehead against his and the gentle wind of her breath as she whispered "Promise me you'll stop Spence, _promise me_ you'll get help," attested otherwise.

It took a moment to register her request under the circumstances.

His mind was foggy and he couldn't help but mentally revisit the fact that this was _JJ_, and she kept calling him _Spence_.

She wasn't trying to push him away. She didn't hate him for his weakness. He just couldn't understand it.

Then he noticed that her left hand was clutched to his button-down shirt as though she was afraid he'd disappear if she let go. Maybe he would. It was all he had been trying to do lately anyway, just disappear.

It simply never occurred to him before that he wasn't the only one falling into the abyss, maybe she had been right there with him the entire time. If she was with him, maybe he _could_ stop, maybe he could be strong. For her. Anything for her.

"Okay," he uttered in agreement.

"No, you have to say it," she insisted.

"I promise." No backing out now. His mind raced with the question of how he could possibly hope to keep this promise. He could go to the meetings- maybe that would help. He'd have to do something, because doing nothing was obviously not working, and failing now meant failing her.

She pulled back slightly to look up at him, never disentangling her left hand from his shirt, but resting her right on the curve of his neck.

"I was so scared Spence," her voice was so low, so earnest, that his heart skipped a beat.

He flushed in shame and remorse. It was his fault she had been afraid, he should have been paying attention, looking out for her tonight. The Unsub should never have gotten that close to her. "I, god, I'm so sorry JJ, that I didn't see him take you off the dance floor, I should have been--"

"No, I don't just mean tonight. The Hankel case, when you-- when he... I thought I lost you. I _watched_ you nearly die Spence, and I couldn't do anything. Just watch. And every case since, I think to myself, _maybe this is the one_. Maybe this time one of us won't make it out alive. Maybe this time none of us will." She laughed self-deprecatingly, trying in vain to wipe away the moisture now clouding her vision, "I'm just so _tired_ of being afraid."

He didn't know how to comfort her.

Comfort and concern had always been her strengths.

He honestly didn't know how she did what she did, but it seemed to come so naturally to her, and he had seen her in action so had a rough idea what the social expectations for a situation like this consisted of.

He wrapped his arms gently around her in a tentative embrace and was rewarded by her immediate response as she clung tightly to him.

He could see why people hugged so often. There was something genuinely soothing about it.

He couldn't help but run a hand through the long golden locks of her hair. She sighed against his neck and whispered, "Stay with me."

He wasn't sure if it was a question or a command. He didn't know for certain if she meant for him to stay in her apartment, or if there were multiple meanings to her words. Either way he had only one response, "Anything."

Pulling back, she glanced at him briefly before her eyes strayed to his lips and she placed a hand on the back of his head, guiding him into another kiss.

Now he was _certain_ no one had ever touched him quite like this before. It was as though her lips contained electricity that pulsed into him with her every movement. It was fire and ecstasy and he worried that he may spontaneously combust any second, right there in her foyer.

It lacked the desperation of earlier, but was no less intense. Her lips felt softer, her movements gentler. Perhaps it was the tension that had left her body, but she felt somehow lighter in his arms. Or maybe it was just the weight that seemed to lift from his shoulders in her presence.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, drawing him insistently closer as her gentle movements quickly progressed into demanding ones, making him forget entirely about the drugs his body craved. This was a far more powerful drug.

He wanted to touch her, like she had touched him. He wanted to make her feel, like she made him feel.

Spencer ran his hands down and across her back, the warmth of her skin igniting his own. He didn't even notice JJ had pulled him away from the front door and around a corner until his body hit a wall with a soft thud.

She moaned into his mouth and the vibration sent shivers up his spine.

They were both flushed and breathing hard by the time she pulled back to undo the top buttons of his dress shirt with surprising deftness, and he could only mumble in response to the fleeting kisses she left on his chest as she went.

The light from the foyer lamp hardly reached whatever area of the apartment they were in now, but this time he wasn't so afraid of the darkness.

JJ pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground behind him. Its thin fabric had left him slightly chilly all night, since Garcia refused to let him within a hundred feet of a nightclub in a sweater-vest, apparently for his own protection.

He was anything but chilly now, and was grateful for its loss despite the fact that it left him half-dressed in JJ's apartment.

He was hit by a sudden bout of shyness when her hand strayed to his corduroys, cupping him through his pants. Now he was acutely aware of just how close she was, of how little clothing he was actually wearing and exactly how limited his experience in this department was.

She ran her hands up his chest, leaving a fiery sensation across his skin as she went, and whispered in his ear "Just relax."

She stepped back from him and for a moment he feared she wouldn't return, but he watched her hands reach for the straps of her dress, pushing them off her slender shoulders and allowing the dress to slide down her body, pooling on the floor around her ankles.

He was both terrified and overwhelmed with desire, completely unable to make his body move. She stood before him like some ethereal goddess, clad only in black lacy undergarments, high heels and moonlight.

She stepped over her discarded dress and took one of his hands, dragging him with her into a bedroom while her other hand busied itself by guiding his mouth back down to her own.

He faltered as the backs of his knees came into contact with the edge of a bed, _her_ bed, and he fell gracelessly backwards, taking her with him. She never wavered in her movements, never stopped to breathe, only ground her body on top of him causing them both to gasp at the contact.

Spencer was unsure of himself, completely out of his element. He couldn't breathe, but he didn't care.

She took his hand in hers, guiding it across her skin, over the curve of her breast, encouraging his exploration with breathy sighs and gasps. He followed her lead, setting out to discover new ways of producing the soft, sensual noises she was making.

After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away and unbuttoned his corduroys, sliding a hand into them and causing his head to fall back and a groan to escape him.

Her pace became suddenly urgent and she tugged at the waist of his pants, trying to move them down, so he lifted his hips to help her as she shoved them down his thighs. She moved away from the bed for a moment, returning with a condom, and pushed him back down into the mattress.

She slipped out of her heels and he kicked off his shoes. Before a minute could pass, they were both free of their clothing and writhing against the sheets, searching out every inch of skin that had previously been denied them.

The air in the room was heavy and electric, punctuated by the sounds of their breathing.

He didn't expect the sudden sensation of her hand wrapped around his hard length, didn't expect the unbelievable warmth as she guided him into her, abruptly dropping herself down, her inner muscles pulling him impossibly deeper.

It was overwhelming and mind-blowing, and he couldn't quite remember his name but he remembered hers and it became a mantra on his lips.

For a brief moment, memories of all the gruesome crime scenes and broken lives, the emptiness that seemed to permeate every aspect of his life, of the lives of each person he encountered in his work, seemed to lift from his mind as she surrounded him completely. He felt safe.

Then she moved.

His eyes snapped open, his body suddenly intensely alert to every shift of hers. His hands caressed her encouragingly, revelling in the feel of her muscles shifting beneath her skin.

Without warning, she reversed their positions, rolling him on top of her, and digging her heels into the backs of his thighs.

She began crying out to god as he thrust into her, his lips against her neck, producing the friction his body demanded.

Whether the spell they seemed to be under would last only for tonight, he couldn't say, but he was determined to make it last as long as possible. Spencer never wanted to stop touching her, stop breathing her in like oxygen. He didn't even need oxygen, just her touch, just her lips, just her. Suddenly she shuddered violently beneath him, his name escaping her lips in a sigh and clenched tightly around him. The combination of sensations overwhelmed him, sending him hurtling over the edge with her as lights exploded behind his eyelids.

After his mind had cleared enough to allow some coherence to his thoughts, he rolled off of her so as not to trap her beneath him.

A flicker of doubt filled his mind then, as he wondered desperately if this had been a selfish pursuit. If in some way he had risked too much this time, laying all his cards on the table and betting his friendship with her out of desperation to lessen his loneliness. He couldn't live with himself if she resented him for it.

Before his thoughts could get away from him though, he felt JJ move next to him, curling her body into his and draping an arm across him. Within moments her breathing had evened out and she was asleep with her head resting in the curve of his neck. With her sleeping form warm against him, he couldn't help but relinquish his doubts for a while and embrace the contentment she offered.

He was still lost and falling and drowning, only now he knew he wasn't alone in it.

The rain had resumed its hold on the city and he listened to its gentle, reassuring sound entwined with their steady heartbeats.

In the quiet hours of the night before sleep pulled him under, Spencer wondered if maybe life was more than just breathing. More than just animal survival and trivial mediocrity, nature versus nurture and passing time.

Maybe everything did happen for a reason.


End file.
